Faith'n'Fiction Saturday: Diversity in Christian Fiction

If this is your first time participating in Faith'n'Fiction, please read this post for more information.

Today's Topic
Deborah often mentions the lack of diversity in Christian fiction, and I definitely think it's something we should talk about more as I observe that many Christians do not feel that Christian fiction represents their own Christian experience.

Do you think Christian fiction represents a diverse range of belief, Christian experience, skin color, and nationality? Have you ever read a book and realized you hadn't read anything quite like it in Christian fiction before? Have you ever wished an author would take a different point of view? Do you think that avid readers of Christian fiction are open to more diversity in Christian fiction? What are some stand-out examples of books that represent diversity in Christian fiction?

My Answer

I think without a doubt that Christian fiction is way too American. There are so few books written from authors of other nationalities. Also, there are far too few books written by and for people of color. While African Americans seem to have gained good ground (with authors like Stacy Hawkins Adams and Claudia Mair Burney) Camy Tang is the only author I can think of with Asian American protagonists, and I can't think of a single Latino protagonist.

I also think that the books continue to be old school evangelical for the most part. Lisa Samson would be a notable exception to that, but there are so many different Christians! I would love to read more books from different Christian experiences.

Your Turn
Drop your permalink in Mister Linky!

Japanese Literature Challenge 3!

I'm so excited to join the Japanese Literature Challenge 3, hosted by Bellezza! Of course, you might be equally as excited if I was making better progress on my other challenges, but I am really and truly thrilled. The challenge is tres facile, you only need to read one work of Japanese origin!

I have a continuing love affair with Japanese culture even though I've been stateside for over four years now.

My goal for this challenge is to read more work by Shusaku Endo. Silence is one of my favorite novels ever and after I read it I snapped up a bunch of his books and never read them. As you do. So I'd like to go back and read those books now!

I hope you'll consider signing up for this challenge as it's quite simple and Japanese lit rocks. Also, you could then put this pretty little button on your site. Miyajima is truly as stunning as it looks in this picture and I took so many pictures when I went there. (take a step, snap a photo)

Review Links for the Newsweek's 50 Books For Our Times Reading Project

If you have completed your book and written your review, please add your the permalink to the Mister Linky below!

Review: Short Girls by Bich Minh Nguyen

Short Girls is the story of Van and Linny, second generation Vietnamese American sisters. They are both quite different from each other...Van is ambitious and holds herself to impossibly high standards while Linny is the beautiful sister who hasn't quite figured out what she wants from life yet. Both sisters come to something of a crisis point in their lives (mostly centered around their relationships with men) and are forced to examine the lives they've been living. Their father is obsessed with the success of short people and quickly filled with rage at the idea of short people being discriminated against. This is both humorous and touching and has so greatly impacted the lives of his daughters that their sense of self is tightly connected to their height.

This is one of the best books I've read in a long while. While it's a relatively quiet character driven book, the characters are richly and masterfully drawn. I love when an author makes a character so consistent down to the small details of their lives and I marveled at just how fully we are able to know Linny and Van. I found that I could relate to both Van and Linny at times and in different ways. The language that Nguyen uses is so achingly beautiful and spot-on that at times I had to set the book and simply reflect.

Once I started reading, I did not want to put the book aside and I read it in one day. The little observations of character and life are so perfect! This is the kind of book that makes you confront yourself even as the characters are confronting themselves.

Sibling relationships, parental relationships, marriage, and identity are all explored in this book. I'm not going to lie to you...there's something that is so very sad about the book while at the same being so real. I was definitely in a melancholy mood today, but the book is one hundred percent worth it.

This is Bich Minh Nguyen's first novel. She has also written a memoir, Stealing Buddha's Dinner, that I know I saw another blogger review recently and that I will be finding just as soon as I can, in addition to eagerly awaiting more books from her pen.

Rating: 4.75/5
Things You Might Want to Know: A very little bit of strong language.
Source of Book: ARC received from Penguin Viking.

Bich Minh Nguyen has a website you can visit to learn more about her, and also you can buy Short Girls on Amazon or in stores now.

Review: Benny & Shrimp by Katarina Mazetti

Benny and Shrimp is in some ways just your typical love story of a couple that is very different trying to find a way to make it work. They are middle aged and both quite set in their lifestyles but madly in love. Shrimp, whose real name is Desiree, has just lost her husband when the book opens and Benny is a farmer who has never been married. Desiree never really loved her husband with a passion, but when she meets Benny at the cemetary, she feels an attraction for him that is very new to her.

They fall in love rather quickly, splitting their time between the farm and the city and numerous issues come up. Desiree isn't ready to part with city life, she doesn't cook, and doesn't want to be expected to be a homemaker while Benny needs someone who can support him on the farm.

The story is quite sweet in some ways, neither are terribly glamorous, just your everyday folk, bumbling along. ;) There's a character, Mrs. Lundmark, who has chosen to withdraw from actual interaction with people, and rather observe them. She doesn't want to make an impact on anyone's life. I found her character to be so tragic, but she also helps Shrimp realize that's not what she wants with her life.

The love story is sweet but imperfect, the ending not terribly satisfying, but all in all an enjoyable read.

I loved this sweet little quote from Benny, "I've no idea if she's ugly or beautiful; it's kind of irrelevant, as long as she's her."

Rating: 4/5
Things You Might Want to Know: A fair bit of sex, though not described in detail
Book Source: Review copy received from FSB Associates

What Makes You Buy a Book?

It's no secret that I'm a huge supporter of buying books. I buy too many books myself and encourage others to buy books as well when it's possible for them.

But I was just curious today about what goes into the actual decision of buying books for you. Especially those of you who buy few books new. For our purposes today, this discussion is about NEW books.

I went to Barnes & Noble because I had a coupon, which I recognize is not really a very good reason to go. I ooohed and aaahed over all the pretty books and ended up getting some. (what a shock) I decided to buy books that I discovered while browsing. I tend to buy books in genres I don't often receive for review (which, once I start reviewing them that usually changes) and speculative fiction has been my latest draw. I felt like since I discovered those books in B&N, they deserved the sales. (Yes welcome to my crazy mind) One book I bought because it was by a Japanese author (yes that's pretty much all it took...a horror book by a Japanese author) and one because it looked good and I noted a few blogger blurbs in the covers.

Really, I don't labor over the decision. I don't like to deny myself.

But what about you? Do you like to see a certain number of favorable reviews first? Do you check out an author's blog or read excerpts or see who has endorsed it? Do you only buy books by authors you already love? Or do you buy books you can't find in your library? Or do you just not buy books at all?

This is not endorsed by any marketing company by the way...this is just me being downright nosy!

Blogging with Integrity

If there's a discussion that's not new to us in the book blogosphere, it's the one about whether or not review copies influence reviews. Should bloggers disclose when a book has been received for review? Etc. so on and so forth, you know the story.

So anyway, one time when this came up, Wendi and I thought it would be cool to come up with a sort of Book Bloggers Code of Ethics, something simple that we could all agree on that would let people know where we stand.

Well that discussion went nowhere when we realized that we couldn't agree on what it should mean.

But the issue keeps coming up and it's certainly being dealt with in the greater blogosphere as well.

So when Hannah pointed out this website to me, I took a look, chatted it over with some folks on Twitter and decided to sign.

Here are some terms I am publicly agreeing to stand by. I like them.

By displaying the Blog with Integrity badge or signing the pledge, I assert that the trust of my readers and the blogging community is important to me.

I treat others respectfully, attacking ideas and not people. I also welcome respectful disagreement with my own ideas.

I believe in intellectual property rights, providing links, citing sources, and crediting inspiration where appropriate.

I disclose my material relationships, policies and business practices. My readers will know the difference between editorial, advertorial, and advertising, should I choose to have it. If I do sponsored or paid posts, they are clearly marked.

When collaborating with marketers and PR professionals, I handle myself professionally and abide by basic journalistic standards.

I always present my honest opinions to the best of my ability.

I own my words. Even if I occasionally have to eat them.

This does mean a change for my blog. While my review policy tells you that I accept a huge number of review copies, my individual reviews haven't. From now on, when I rate a book and let you know of any potentially offensive material, I will also include the source of the book.

Why sign the pledge?
Because I believe in proactive measures rather than reactive measures when possible. This issue won't go away and this is a clear and public statement that when I accept review copies, I will let you know and I'll still give you honest feedback. Also, I like some of the other terms of the pledge...like crediting sources. (by the way this is a criteria for judging in the BBAW awards)

Common Objections

I hold myself Accountable, why do I need a Pledge?-- Well, I'm not going to bring box cutters on airplanes anytime soon, and yet I still submit to a search at the airport. And I'm willing to sign contracts to give my word...why not a little internet pledge about integrity? It's a public unified effort to show that these are standards I adhere to. I don't think I have anything to lose by signing.

I Review all Books the Same Regardless of the Source -- Then signing the pledge shouldn't be a problem. In fact, the more information we give up front, the better. It leaves no room for doubt to grow. I'll never forget a blog comment I read where the blogger stated how shocked they felt when they realized bloggers were getting books as review copies. They felt deceived, even though I'm sure no blogger meant to deceive them. Signing this pledge doesn't negate our integrity, it reenforces it. Besides, the sad truth is that bloggers have admitted over and over that they review books received for review differently. Sometimes they take more care with those reviews, sometimes they are gentler, sometimes they cut certain language out of the review. There is a difference in the way bloggers review these books and it's time we recognized it.

I get that some of you aren't going to be ready to sign this pledge or make this change. I used to feel that it didn't matter, but it has become clear to me that it does. I'd love to see more book bloggers proactive about this! Feel free to go sign the pledge now!

Be the Change You Want to See

I was at Comic-Con this weekend so I was only able to briefly follow the outrage concerning the cover of Liar by Justine Larbalestier. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, please read Justine's post) I read some interesting and thought provoking posts concerning it...and analyzed my own response.

To be honest, my first response was, huh? I thought that girl was Asian.

Seriously. So to hear the cover described as a white girl with long blond locks...well that conjures a totally different image in my head.

But I digress.

What happened is wrong. It doesn't even make sense. I don't think it's defensible in the least, but you've probably already heard a bunch of people say that so I'm just adding my voice.

I've read a lot of people say that they didn't like the cover anyway. Since I'm into honesty here, I'll say that I love it. I love that cover. It makes the
book look so intriguing. To me, there's so much mystery wrapped up in the combination of the cover and the title that it makes me want to read it right away.
Of course now, it's starting to feel laughable. But in the beginning, I loved it. And I hate the Australian cover. I would never pick it up. It looks like some sort
of cheap crime thriller, nothing about it screams PICK ME UP!

But I do think there's probably a better cover out there for the book...you know, one that actually makes sense.

Interestingly, this weekend, I attended a panel on the Evolution of Fantasy. Greg Van Eekhout (really funny guy) was on this panel and he talked about he didn't set out to write an urban fantasy book but that was how the publishing house decided to market it. And they put a 3/4-of-a-girl on the cover because that's what urban fantasy books have, even though the book is not actually about a girl according to Greg. So it seems this mass confusion is going on in all areas of book marketing and covers. That's why even though we all do it, we shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

But you know what? While it's important to speak out about what Bloomsbury did and how they've responded, there's a bigger question we need to be asking ourselves. Do I ever avoid a book because the protagonist is a different race from myself?

I was thinking about this, because I love Tyler Perry movies. I go see every one of them in theater and I often find myself in the minority if not the only white group in the audience. Why would that be? And then all the of the previews before the movie are for other African American movies and I wonder...is that okay? Is it okay to have a market like that? Or should we try to mainstream all Latin, African American, Asian, etc. entertainment?

How does this relate to Liar? Well, my question is...even though yes it was WRONG to place a white girl on the cover of a book about a black girl, were the publishers wrong in recognizing that a black face would turn potential sales away? And I ask you....do you read books that are labeled African American fiction? I bet a lot of books (if not all) labeled that way would fit seamlessly into general fiction. Have you ever not read a book or read more about a book because it was labeled as African American fiction or Latin Fiction, or even...women's fiction?

I ask because it's not helpful to demand changes like this be made if we are not willing to examine our own buying and reading habits. It's easy to point a finger at Bloomsbury and say how dare you, without looking at why they did it. Why did they do it? Because WE've made it possible. Don't let race influence the books you decide to read.

I remember a year or two ago, there was an African American author who fought with her publisher about her book being labeled African American fiction, because it would cost her sales and readers. I can't find the information on it now...does anyone remember this and have a link? I did, however, find this excellent from Carleen Brice that talks about this issue in more depth.

In the interest of transparency, I decided to examine my own reading habits. I think I might avoid or not read more about books written from a Latin perspective or labeled as Latin lit. And so I apologize for that and will work on being more open to looking at books from Latin authors or with Latin protagonists. How about you? No judgement here, by the way. Just an encouragement to change. (oh and sorry for the corny title!)

Summer of Hitchcock Discussion: The Man Who Knew Too Much

As I suspected, I did not have time to watch this week. However, I will try to watch it this week and update this space with my review. Please share your thoughts in comments if you did watch!

Faith 'n' Fiction Saturday: Books That Make You Laugh

What is Faith'n'Fiction Saturday you ask? Read the intro post!

Today's Question
I always think there's a lack of books that are genuinely funny, that make me laugh through the book. It's probably why I so enjoy chick lit. But Christian chick lit lacks that light natural feeling humor and so there aren't many books (apart from Josey and Theodora!) that make me laugh.

Tell Me
Are there some good Christian fiction books that made you laugh out loud and just feel really good about life? I can't wait to hear your recommendations. Please put them in comments...linky seems to be having issues.

Comic-Con Day Two

I had a very busy and full day today and I'm dead tired. Tomorrow is the all important LOST panel. I met the nicest couple in line for The Flash Forward panel who missed the panel last year and the very idea almost made me break out in hives, so I need to get to bed early so I can get there as soon as possible. I'll likely be in line for around 2 hours. I simply can't miss it!

Speaking of the Flash Forward panel....they showed us the first two acts of the pilot and a teaser for more of the season along with explaining some of where they were going and let me just say this...it looks EXCELLENT. I'm really really excited about this one. And...it features not one, but two beloved members of the LOST cast so there you have it. This was probably my favorite panel of the day because it got me really excited about the show and the possibility that there might be Television Life after LOST. I already have the book and plan to read it ASAP.

I sat in on several book panels but they weren't as good as yesterday's Evolution of Fantasy. I think this may have been a moderator issue. After all, the young adult fantasy panel was supposed to be about creating worlds that would be beloved and remembered by today's youth when they are adults (like Narnia) but that's sort of a one question panel don't you think? And the panelists themselves were all quite interesting. Oh well. I had a lovely time chatting with them aftewards. Also sat in on the Caring and Feeding of a Series panel which was decent, and then of course Penguin's hour long commercial where they showed upcoming ACE and ROC titles, my heart burst into book lust, and I won a galley of Ilona Andrews' forthcoming book On the Edge.

I also attended the Past Life panel. I was interested in this one because its inspiration is M.J. Rose's book The Reincarnationist. The TV show is totally different...it's a procedural show where they are using the memories of people's past lives to solve crimes and mysteries. I can't say I was blown away by the pilot (it is a procedural--the only one I really love is The Closer) but I do think it's something I might enjoy watching. Solid, if not exciting.

And I sat through a panel on the history of Underground Comix which was very informative and interesting.

Those were the panels....like I said I also met several authors, a blogger!, and stuff like that. I'm dead tired and hoping to catch 4 panels tomorrow...so off to bed with me! Wish me luck on getting into all of my panels and having the stamina to go to an author talk and signing tomorrow night.

I"ll be tweeting through the day again...thanks for all your responses they really make me smile..

Review: Ravens by George Dawes Green

Imagine winning the lottery and having the misfortune of the wrong person finding out that information. Your joy might quickly become fear....when they hold your family hostage and demand half the money.

That's the basic premise behind George Dawes Green book, Ravens. But let's get to first things first shall we? Is that not the most awesome cover ever? I absolutely love it and imagine the book will fly off the shelves on the strength of the cover alone.

The book itself isn't bad either. I was almost automatically engaged even though I wasn't terribly fond of any of the characters. And you know how I generally don't like crude sexual talk or language? Well there's lots of that in this book, as well, but I couldn't seem to stop turning the pages. Add to that-I really struggled with the believability of the whole thing.

But despite all of those problems? Totally flew through this book.

I would definitely be up for trying to read some more of this author's work. Also I suspect this may be made into a film....I really visualized it in a film sort of way while reading.

Rating: 4/5
Things You Might Want to Know: Kind of a lot of language and sex talk. And also some seriously weird spins of Christianity.

Day One at Comic-Con

I had a very fun full day at Comic-Con! I was able to make it to most of the panels that I wanted to except for the first one, on Escapist Fantasy because the line to pick up badges was massive. So I was bummed to miss a few authors, but I slipped into the Astroboy panel instead. This was cool for two reasons. One, I used to live in Japan where Astroboy was all kinds of popular. (well it's where he came from!) and two--Kristen Bell was on the panel. Sadly, Kristen didn't have any fresh original ideas for getting that Veronica Mars movie made, but she is more than willing to do it --I hope we get to see it made! They showed us some clips and the trailer and it looks like a cool movie. If you like that kind of stuff. :)

I sat in on three other panels...one to make sure I had a seat for the next panel which I was really interested in. Entertainment Weekly: Wonder Women: Female Power Icons in Pop Culture I was really interested in this panel because I loved the topic and also because I love the character of Juliet on LOST and Elizabeth Mitchell was on the panel! It was an excellent excellent panel and I hope to write more thoughts about it later. But who knows.

The fourth panel I attended was the Evolution of Fantasy with several of today's fantasy authors, including the very popular Patrick Rothfuss and Jacqueline Carey. This panel was very interesting and I jotted down quite a few notes...I feel it will be the inspiration for a few opinion posts in the future.

Anyway, just wanted to check in...hope you are all having great weeks!!

Read the first chapter: What the Bayou Saw by Patti Lacy

I missed the tour date of this book!!! I feel terribly especially since it has gotten rave review from people I think are awesome like Julie Lessman and Tina Ann Forkner.

I hope you'll check out the first chapter of What the Bayou Saw and I'll definitely be carving time for this book into my reading schedule. Once I'm able to read again.

Prologue

Hold the Wind, Hold the Wind, Hold the Wind, don’t let it blow.

—Negro spiritual, “Hold the Wind”

August 26, 2005, Normal, Illinois

“I’m meteorologist Kim Boudreaux.” Clad in a dark suit, the petite woman smiled big for her television audience. “Katrina’s track has changed.” She pointed to a mass of ominous-looking clouds that threatened to engulf the screen. “She’s no longer headed for Mobile but is on course for the Crescent City.”

Sally Stevens checked her cell phone, then paced in front of the television, as if that would make her brother Robert pick up the phone. She needed to talk to him, needed to know that he’d gotten her nieces and her sister-in-law out of the death trap that New Orleans suddenly had become. Needed to have him assure her, with his balmy Southern drawl, that he and his National Guardsmen were going to be okay.

A slender hand pointed to what must be a fortune’s worth of satellite and radar imagery. “As you can see, Katrina’s moving toward the mouth of the Mississippi, toward the levees . . .” The meteorologist buzzed on, seemingly high on news of this climactic wonder.

Every word seeped from the television screen, crept across the Stevens’s den, and crawled up Sally’s spine. Louisiana had once been her home. Her heritage. What would this hurricane do to the Southern state that she still loved?

A glance at her watch told Sally to get moving. Instead, she once again punched in Robert’s number. If she could just hear his voice, she’d know how to pray later as she stood in her classroom pretending to be passionate about her lecture on the history of American music, pretending to act like it was another ordinary afternoon in Normal, Illinois, while this mother of a storm wreaked wrath and vengeance upon her brother. Her home.

“. . . the next twenty-four hours are crucial . . .” The camera zoomed in for a close-up, focusing on a perfect oval face that, for just a moment, seemed to stiffen, as if a personal levee was about to be breached. “I’m not supposed to say this.” Urgency laced the forecaster’s voice “But I’m telling you. Leave. This is a killer.” The pulsating weather image seemed to confirm her report, a mass of scarlet and violet whirling about an ominous-looking eye. Growing like a cancer. Moving in for the kill . . .

Talk turned to evacuation, log-jammed roads, but Sally barely listened. Years flew away as she studied Ms. Boudreaux’s flawless mocha complexion, the tilt of her chin. The determination of this woman to save her city, or at least its people. So like the determination of Ella, that first friend, who’d taken off for New Orleans. It was as if the lockbox of Sally’s memories had somehow sprung open. Ella, that friend who’d saved her. Ella. And her brother Willie, if he’d gotten out of the pen. Were they digging in, evacuating—

A classical song Sally’s kids had downloaded onto her phone poured from the tiny speaker as the device vibrated in her palm.

“God, let it be—” She glanced at the readout. 504 area code. New Orleans. Robert. Her fingers suddenly clumsy, she struggled to flip open the phone.

Static greeted her.

“Robert? Bobby?” She was shouting, but she didn’t care. “Are you there? Are you—”

“Ssss—got them out.”

He’s out there somewhere, right in the elements, from the sound of it. “Where are you?” Sally cried. “Robert, what’s going on?” Sally pressed the phone against her ear until it hurt. All this technology, yet she could barely hear him, could barely—

The whooshing stopped. So did Robert’s voice. Sally stared at the readout. Ten seconds she’d had with him. Ten seconds to gauge the climate of a city. A city that might still claim as a resident that once-best friend. Sally whispered a prayer as she grabbed her briefcase and headed to class.

***

August 29, 2005, New Orleans, Louisiana

“It’s no use! The generator’s flooded!” A single battery-operated hallway light revealed the faint outline of Dr. Powers, the thin, impeccably groomed physician whom Ella Ward had worked with for a decade. “Ella? Ella?” He groped against the hospital’s second floor wall, his hands and arms made ghoulish by the shadowy dark. “Are you there? Ella? We’ve got to get them out of here! Now.”

Screams, howling winds, and debris crashing against boarded-up windows swirled into a hellish cacophony that tore at Ella’s heart. What were the three of them, she, Willie, and the doctor—no. Willie didn’t count. What were the two of them going to do for sixty-three patients writhing in excrement, gasping for breath, thousands of dollars of ventilators and BiPAPs rendered powerless? Dying, minute by minute, second by second?

Just to keep from falling down, Ella dug her fingernails into a wall sweaty with humidity. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. At Dr. Powers’s side, she’d watched an aortic artery explode, a patient gurgle in his own blood . . . “The scalpel, Ms. Ward?” he’d said. “Suction, please.” With ice-blue cool, Dr. Powers had plucked life out of mangled messes and never even raised his voice. Now his screams pierced Ella’s ears, and her hopes. Even with one of New Orleans’ best surgeons at her side, the prognosis of surviving this storm was dim. There was nothing for Ella to do but close her eyes and beg. “Oh God. Please Spirit. Please Lord Jesus, please.”

Dr. Powers clutched at the sleeve of Ella’s cotton scrub. “Where’s Willie?”

The doctor’s touch and the mention of her brother brought Ella around. Still, she could barely speak for the quivering of her lip. “Where . . . do you think a junkie would be?”

“The . . . pharmacy?”

Even though Dr. Powers most likely couldn’t see her nod, Ella went through the motion. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d decided she and Willie would come here together. Yet even in her worst nightmare, she hadn’t really believed that they’d die here together.

“Someone, anyone, let me outta here!” It was Mrs. Smith, in Room 215.

“Hold the wind, Lord!” Mr. Lunsford, who’d thought he’d die of cancer.

Ella gritted her teeth. One by one, the patients were seeing the storm’s demonic fingers etching out a death sentence, and screaming their response.

“We’ve got to do something.”

Dr. Powers’s words sent a shiver through Ella. Had he read her mind? Or had she babbled without even knowing it? She clamped her hands over her ears. Lord! I’m goin’ crazy! Help me, Lord!

“What’s happenin’, Lawd? Oh, Lawd Jesus!”

“Sweet Jesus! Where are you?”

What had acted as a twisted tonic to incite the patients to a new level of chaos? Was it the howls of the winds, the thuds and crashes against the windows, the doors, the very roof of this place?

“Jesus, oh Jesus!”

Every moan, every scream, knifed into Ella like a scalpel. Nursing school hadn’t trained her for this. Nearly thirty years working at understaffed facilities hadn’t trained her for this. Nothing had trained her for this. With taut fingers, she pulled the doctor close, then shoved him to his knees and knelt by him, her hands flush against the wall. “We gotta pray,” she said.

Rebecca, I accept Your Challenge or Yes Okay, I'll watch Cheers

Have you heard of the I Dare You Challenge? It's a pretty cool concept thought up by Alea, Mitali, and Irish. (who are all seriously cool which I can say since I've met them all in person!)

Anyway, Rebecca and Sharon have challenged me! Here's the challenge:

TO WATCH THE ENTIRE FIRST SEASON OF THE SITCOM CHEERS!

Okay I have to admit, this doesn't sound like oodles of fun, but it does sound manageable. And the best part are the challenge conditions:

This challenge must be completed by February 2nd, 2010.

If you fail in this challenge you must watch another first season of a TV show of our choice.

If you succeed in this challenge we must each watch a first season of a TV show of your choice (it can be the same show or a different one for each of us.)

Oh I will succeed. And they will be watching some cult hit WB show, because that is what I love with all my heart.

Wait!!! More rules:

If you choose to accept this dare you must follow these rules:

* Blog about your acceptance and log in with Mr Linky on the correct Acceptance Post here.
* Blog about your thoughts after completing each item. When you've completed the challenge check in with Mr Linky on the correct Completed Challenge Post on the I Dare You to Accept This Challenge Blog!
* Once you accept (or complete) this challenge then make a list of 10 related items (i.e. all Bollywood movies) and challenge one of your friends...even the one who challenged you!
* Need help deciding on a dare? Check out what others are doing here.


2. Once you've challenged your friend be sure to stop back here and let everyone know who you've challenged. Then sit back and see how they do!

I would like to challenge someone to something...and I'm thinking of what it could be. I enjoy being an evangelist for the things I love. ;)

Review: The Kidnapping of Kenzie Thorn by Liz Johnson

Love Inspired Suspense books are the perfect quick getaway reads for me. I actually think they have a better variety of suspenseful situations than other romantic suspense books. And there are no endless sex scenes!! Even better.

I was pleased to open The Kidnapping of Kenzie Thorn and learn that Kenzie worked in a prison. Seriously fresh setting. Of course we don't stay there long! Someone wants to hurt Kenzie, but lucky for her, Myles is on her side.

Who is Myles? The undercover FBI agent. He's there to protect her, and just in the nick of time!

But will Kenzie believe he is who says he is? Can Myles convince her that his plan is the best?

This is a fun quick read. It's undoubtedly Christian fiction. The pacing is quite brisk, the writing tight, and I was even surprised by the end. There is a scene that reminds me a bit of a famous scene from 24 Season 2, but it played out a bit more interesting in the book.

A good book to quickly pass the time during these hot summer days! (if you enjoy Christian romantic suspense)

Rating: 4/5

CFBA Book Spotlight: Things Left Unspoken by Eva Marie Everson

About Things Left Unspoken: Every family--and every house--has its secrets. Jo-Lynn Hunter is at a crossroads in life when her great-aunt Stella insists that she return home to restore the old family manse in sleepy Cottonwood, Georgia. Jo-Lynn longs to get her teeth into a noteworthy and satisfying project. And it's the perfect excuse for some therapeutic time away from her self-absorbed husband and his snobby Atlanta friends.

Beneath the dust and the peeling wallpaper, things are not what they seem, and what Jo-Lynn doesn't know about her family holds just as many surprises. Was her great-grandfather the pillar of the community she thought he was? What is Aunt Stella hiding? And will her own marriage survive the renovation? Jo-Lynn isn't sure she wants to know the truth--but sometimes the truth has a way of making itself known.

Tube Talk: Supernatural 3.9, 3.10

Every week Elizabeth and I chat about a few episodes of Supernatural. Next week we're taking a little break, but I'll try to report about the Supernatural panel at Comic-Con instead!



Episode 9: Malleus Malificarum
Synopsis: Sam and Dean travel to Sturbridge, Massachusetts, and discover a coven of witches that has killed two people.

Amy: This episode was pretty hard to watch for me. The teeth coming out was just absolutely terrible. GROSS.
Elizabeth: I have dreams like that!!! Okay, now I'm freaked out.
Amy: So...witches. I take it Dean really doesn't like witches!
Elizabeth: Right - "spewing their bodily fluids everywhere..." It's like he takes personal offense to them for some reason,.
Amy: The worst part was the meat with the maggots all over it and then the guy's burger turned into that. Seriously, that just grossed me out SO MUCH.
Elizabeth: That part kinda just reminded me of something Andrew Zimmerin would eat on Bizarre Foods, so it honestly didn't bother me that much. Amy: I think I might have been eating at the time.
Amy: Did you realize witchcraft was being performed on Amanda?
Elizabeth: That was surprising, but it kinda makes sense - in witchcraft, what goes around really does come around.
Amy: How funny was Dean about the rabbit?
Elizabeth: hee hee.
Amy: Book club...of a very different sort. I don't really want a book club like that.
Elizabeth: Yeah, that's taking it a little far. Thank heavens all my book friends are ACTUALLY book friends.
Amy: Were you especially suspicious of Renee?
Elizabeth: YES. Immediately. She seemed like the evil ringleader right away.
Amy: Ruby again. Wants Sam to get out of dodge.
Elizabeth: Why does she keep helping them? SO confused...
Amy: So the witches get their power from demons. (duh)
Elizabeth: Well, that wasn't the biggest surprise of the night.
Amy: Dean is still concerned about Sam, but Sam is just trying to become like Dean.
Elizabeth: I don't think that had ever occurred to Dean before - he's so busy trying to protect Sam, the last thing he would ever expect would be that Sam would try to become like them.
Amy: Dean always seems to be the one getting beat up, doesn't he???? What a way to spend your last few months on earth. Thank God his teeth didn't come out. What was that crap Ruby forced down his throat?
Elizabeth: Yeah, his track record is not that good. For a tough guy, he spends a lot of time on the floor.
Amy: Okay I was surprised that Tammy was the demon. And she was pretty dang freaky. I wasn't sure they were going to pull out of that one!
Elizabeth: Well, she was my #2 choice for evil baddy, so I wasn't too surprised. However, when she stopped the bullet, I knew things were going to go badly. Tammy lets it slip that the demons don't believe in Sam anymore - now there is a new leader who wants him dead.
Amy: So how about demons used to be humans? I guess that souls are eternal in the Supernatural mythology...they either become completely evil, they linger as spirits, or they go someplace we don't yet know. (please let there be a heaven!)
Elizabeth: Well, that was unexpected. The demons are getting to be almost as interesting as the Winchesters. I'd really like some more exploration of the possible endings for souls - it seems like there is a lot there we don't know.
It's interesting that they are portraying hell as fairly close to the Christian belief - a place of torment, with a real fire in the pit.
Amy: Ruby admits she can't get Dean out of his deal, but wants his help to get Sam ready to fight the war.
Elizabeth: I think that's the one thing Dean really doesn't want to do - make Sam more like him. I'm still holding out hope that there's some way to get Dean out of his deal. And Ruby still remembers what it's like to be human.....wow.



Episode 10: Dream a Little Dream of Me
Synopsis:When Bobby falls into a coma and can't be awakened, Sam and Dean race to his side.

Amy: Bobby!!!!!!!!!!!! I was sad to see Bobby trapped in his dreams!!!
Elizabeth: Really scary, because Bobby is always the one who knows what's going on. Bad when he's the one in trouble. I hated the scenes where he was screaming for help!
Amy: Sam accuses Dean of not even wanting to save himself. Sam says something about what Dean is going to become. Do you think Dean told him about how demons used to be human?
Elizabeth: I'm not sure - he also mentions he's starting to think not even Ruby can save Dean, which means he obviously doesn't know everything Ruby told Dean.
Amy: So the whole sleep root/drug thing is pretty interesting. I pretty much yelled at Dean, don't drink the beer!!!
Elizabeth: Right - especially in the "I was only growing ferns" guy's room.
Best line of the episode -
Dean: I take it we believe the legends.
Sam: When don't we?
Amy: So....Sam's dream about Bella...pretty funny. Ha! (I like how they always play that sleazy music during the sex scenes)
Elizabeth: Yeah, the "Bowm-chicka-waw-waaaa" music is always a sign...
Amy: Did you trust she had pure intentions?
Elizabeth: Well, no. I don't think she ever has pure intentions. But I think Bobby saving her made her slightly more likely to help.
Amy: I thought that the story about Bobby's wife was just really really sad, and that he's so haunted by what he did to her. I thought Sam stepping out into Pushing Daisies land was weird as well. And I was touched when Dean revealed that he thinks of Bobby as a father. I think Bobby is a MUCH better father figure to Dean than John was.
Elizabeth: Nearly anyone could be a better father than John was. (Sorry, still don't like him.) I think Bobby has been there for the brothers much more than John ever was, physically and emotionally. His wife's story was tragic - every hunter has a tragic story.
Amy: Ugh not sleeping...UGH.
Elizabeth: Yeah, that would never work for me.
Amy: Dean didn't want Sam inside his head...I have to admit....how terrifying!
Elizabeth: Well, he's always had a lot he's hidden from Sam - now it's all going to be out there.
Amy: I was so sad to see what Dean's dream was...just to have a normal life...a wife and kid. :(
Elizabeth: Similar to when the djinn gave him his wish - he just wants a normal life. Amy: It's interesting because what's on the exterior of these boys is not necessarily what's deep down inside.
Amy: When Dean faced himself, I actually think he was able to resolve a lot of issues. Most notably that he doesn't deserve to go to hell, and he didn't deserve to be treated the way his father treated him. I thought the DVD extra about the evolution of this episode was really interesting. I think it ended up being just right, truthfully.
Elizabeth: That was an extremely powerful moment. There was something awfully symbolic about Dean killing that version of himself.
Amy: Bella is always up to no good!
Elizabeth: She never has good intentions - and now Dean might really kill her.
Amy: I'm glad he was able to tell Sam he doesn't want to die. But I fear there will be no way to save him. :(
Elizabeth: I'm so happy he is slowly but surely coming out from behind the walls he has put up. But you're right - I don't know that there is anything to be done to save him.

Go read our discussion on episodes 11 and 12 at Elizabeth's blog!

Some of the History Behind BBAW

The very cool Lee Verday offered to let me guest blog about Book Blogger Appreciation Week. Since so many people have told me this is their first year, I thought I'd share some of the history behind it. Go check it out!

Summer of Hitchcock: Spellbound Discussion

I never realized how many of Hitchcock's films are based on the written word and Spellbound is no exception, it is based on the novel The House of Dr. Edwardes by Francis Breedings. Fascinating stuff!

In any case, Spellbound is the story of Dr. Edwardes who arrives at a mental hospital to take the place of Dr. Murchinson. Dr. Edwardes, himself, however seems a bit strange, as he has episodes triggered by visual clues. The beautiful Dr. Peterson has fallen in love with him however, and attempts to help him, believing he is not a murderer but a sick person.

And so we must uncover just who Edwardes is...he isn't who he says he is but who is he?

I enjoyed Spellbound when I first saw it and I enjoyed it this time as well. This time, however, I was terribly distracted by the overpowering and sickening love music. But never mind that, I had managed to forget some of the details which made it a mystery all over again. And I really enjoyed Gregory Peck to be honest. ;)

When I think of Spellbound what sticks out in my mind is the dream sequence by Salvador Dali. It is really quite true to the bizarre nature of dreams and beautiful in a way.

What did you think of Spellbound?

Next week we discuss the Man Who Knew Too Much with James Stewart. I may not have time to watch it with Comic-Con this week, but I'll do my best!

Read the first chapter of The Missionary by William Carmichael and David Lambert

I have absolutely no doubt that July is going to go down as the month in which I've read the fewest books. I can't remember the last time I've read so little!

Here's a sneak peek at the book The Missionary by William Carmichael and David Lambert.

The tall man guided his new Mercedes out of Avenue Casanova traffic and pulled in behind a battered Volks -wagen at the gutter; he had just seen the Ford van several cars ahead of him pull over, its emergency flashers on. He leaned to the side, straining for a clear view around the cars and trucks honking, jockeying for position, crowding the avenue. It was late—10:34, he affirmed with a glance at his Rolex—and the glare of so many lights on the rainwashed streets made him squint. He watched the van’s driver get out, wait for a break in the traffic, and then jog across the street toward some sort of commotion. There were children running—one was on the ground, a boy. A heavyset man in a dirty white apron was yelling at the fallen boy, kicking him, and the boy curled into a ball. A girl threw herself between the fallen boy and the man; the man pushed her down. The van’s driver arrived and held up a hand, yelling at the man in the apron, who yelled back.

There was nothing unusual about the scene. It was played out scores of times on this and many other Caracas streets every night: hungry, homeless children scrabbling for a living, treated as nothing more than human refuse by the adults annoyed by them or who sought them for other purposes. One needed no more excuse to kick—or exploit, in any of dozens of unsavory ways—a street urchin than one did a stray dog.

The tall man had seen the driver of the van, a missionary, make several such stops over the past few days, usually at night, chatting with groups of these children, teasing them, making them laugh, talking to them as long as the children were willing to stay. Twice the tall man had managed to get close enough to overhear the missionary asking kids where they lived, whether they had enough to eat, whether any of them were sick or knew other children who were sick, whether there were other homeless children nearby. The name on the side of the van was Aldea Esperanza. Hope Village. The tall man knew exactly where it was; he had driven past it, slowly. It was a mission—a place that took in young homeless ones.


The missionary stepped between the angry man and the two children on the ground. The girl was talking to the fallen boy. She looked worried. The man in the apron pushed past the missionary and grabbed something from the young girl’s hand, then brandished it at the missionary —evidence, no doubt, that the children had stolen from him. The missionary pointed toward the children, spoke to the man, and then reached into his pocket and offered to pay for what the children had stolen. The man grabbed it and stalked away, still yelling back over his shoulder.

Three or four other children wandered back as the aproned man disappeared. If any of these children had a home with a bed, they would undoubtedly have been in it by this time of night.

A group of young men walked by, their clothes and voices loud, two of them taking swigs from their bottles of beer. The avenue was crowded with those seeking thrills, as well as the homeless. From across the street, a prostitute caught the tall man’s eye and waved. He ignored her. Peering around a passing truck, he watched as the missionary knelt and placed his hand on the forehead of the young boy.

This was a good thing that the missionary was doing. The tall man admired him for it. Yes, it was time to meet him face-to-face. Maybe he was the right man for the job. Maybe not.

• • • • • • •

The rain had stopped, at least for now.

“¿Hay algun familiar de este chico?” David asked. He removed his hand from the child’s forehead. The boy was burning with fever, gasping desperately; his chest rattled.

“Sí.”

David glanced up at the girl who had tried to protect the boy; she could not have been more than ten.

“He is my little brother. He started coughing five days ago,” she said. “And after he runs, he cannot breathe.”

“What’s his name?”

”Ricardo. My name is Angela.”

David smiled and touched her arm. “Angela, where are your parents?”

Angela shrugged. David saw this response often. It meant that the girl’s parents were drug addicts, or that they were dead, or that she had no idea where they were and probably hadn’t seen them in some time.

He brushed Ricardo’s lank hair from his forehead. For five years now David had patrolled the barrios of Caracas, witnessing the misery of an endless supply of impoverished and sickly and homeless children. Was there no end to the suffering here?

Swarms of Latinos hurried by in the warm, humid night, seemingly unaware. Salsa music blared from one of the bars down the street. Honking cars, trucks, and buses jammed Avenue Casanova. The stink of urine rose from the gutter, a bitter note blending with the fragrance of fresh arepas, frying chilies, refried beans, and beer. “¡Vámanos, arriba!” someone yelled from down the street.

Ricardo stared at David with sunken, panicked eyes, his back rising off the broken sidewalk in his effort to pull air into his lungs.

“How old is your brother?” David asked Angela.

“Siete.”

There was no point calling an ambulance. They refused to pick up the homeless. David pulled out his cell and called his wife. “Christie, call Dr. Vargas and see if he can meet us at the clinic in forty-five minutes. Tell him I have a seven year-old boy I think is in the acute stages of pneumonia. He can barely breathe.”

There was a pause. “Is he wheezing?” she asked.

“Big-time.”

“Okay. Get him here quick.”

When David clicked off his phone and reached behind the boy to lift him, large olive-skinned hands reached down to help. David looked up to see a tall, well-dressed man.

“Can I please help you?” The stranger spoke in English.

“We can put him in my car just down the street if you need transportation to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” David said, “but my van’s right here.” He nodded toward the white nine-passenger Ford van he used as both bus and ambulance. It was double-parked, emergency flashers blinking, Aldea Esperanza painted in bright red letters on the side. “I’m taking this child to my clinic.”

Before David could object, the tall man lifted Ricardo’s thin little body into his arms and headed for the van. David grabbed Angela’s hand and, weaving through honking, halting traffic, hurried ahead to open the back doors. Inside lay a mattress neatly wrapped with clean white sheets. The man gently laid Ricardo on the mattress.

David motioned for Angela to climb into the back of the van with Ricardo. She hesitated. “What about my friends? Two of them are also coughing.”

David looked back across the street, where seven children stood watching. He glanced at the well-dressed man, who shrugged.

“We don’t have room,” David said. “I’m sorry. Right now, I can only take your brother and you. And for your brother’s sake, we must hurry.”

“Then take Maria instead of me. She has been coughing for three days,” Angela replied.

David looked at the stranger, then across the street again. “Jesus, help . . .” he whispered, then asked, “Which one is Maria?”

Angela yelled, “¡Maria, ven!” motioning Maria forward. A girl David guessed to be about the same age as Angela wove her way through traffic toward them. Without asking, Angela quickly shoved Maria up into the back of the van next to her brother.

Always choices, David thought, and most of them are bad. How can it be the will of God to simply choose among the least bad alternatives?

He put his hand on Angela’s shoulder, urging her into the van with Ricardo and Maria. As she scrambled in, she smiled. Already a skilled negotiator, David thought. David shook the stranger’s hand and hurried to the driver’s door. “Thank you for your help.” He grabbed a business

card from the dash and handed it to the man, then cranked the engine and slammed the door. “Why don’t you visit us?” he hollered through the window, over the engine noise.

“I would like to. Perhaps soon.”

David waved over his shoulder and inched out into traffic, his headlights reflecting on slick, wet streets. Ricardo hacked a loud, racking cough.

David took a sharp right, leaving the business district and entering a darker, less congested area, a faster way home. Big raindrops began again, slowly at first, then pounding hard and fast against the windshield while the wipers beat like rapid rubber drumsticks. And there was another sound. At first David thought that the windshield wipers were broken—the motor giving out, wheezing . . . and then he realized that the sound was coming from the back of the van. It stopped. David glanced in the rearview mirror.

The boy’s sister hovered over Ricardo. “Angela, how’s your brother back there?” David asked. “Everything okay?”

Angela’s little face tilted up, her eyes frightened.

“Señor!” she said. “He cannot breathe! He is choking!”

The Sunday Salon: So Much Stuff. So so much stuff.

To say I'm behind on everything feels like an understatement. I can't think of one area where I really feel on top of things. Part of it is summer...the heat zaps my energy, and I just want to sleep all day. Part of it is having had a fairly unsuccessful garage sale and part of it is putting way too much on my plate. :)

But I feel a corner up ahead....one I can turn. ;) Maybe. Anyway, here's a bunch of stuff I've been meaning to mention, but haven't yet.

1) CHEAP roundtable. This past week was the CHEAP roundtable at Edward Champion's blog. I was barely a part of it, but it makes for some good reading. The book was excellent in my opinion, and I will probably post something resembling a review here, soon. But you should really go read the roundtable. (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five) (By the way, how much do I love the roundtable idea? Think Ed would mind if I stole it?)

2) Big Ballads Blitz. Shelley is drumming up support for Stephanie Kuehnert's new book, by having a big contest! Pre-order the book, mail in your receipt, and you could be entered to win great prizes! Read all about it over at Write for a Reader. This is a great chance to support another YA author.

3) BBAW Award Nominations are open. There are approximately 417,000 categories....should be interesting to see what unfolds. ;) Please remember this is all in fun...the book blogging community wouldn't be the same if a single person was missing. Go vote!

4) I saw Harry Potter. Despite the fact that I was in the middle of a very stressful week, I had to go. I love my Harry Potter. And I enjoyed the movie as well. It never felt long to me. I have to admit I was disappointed by the ending. I always imagined it to be much more dramatic. Oh well. The funny thing about Harry Potter is I have to go straight away when the movie comes out, but I rarely ever watch the movies again. I adore the books, though. Completely.

5) Reading. Since this is the Sunday Salon, I feel as if I should talk about what I'm reading...I'm reading Ravens by George Dawes Green. This is the most bizarre book, b/c I don't want to put it down, and yet I can't say exactly why it's so compelling!

6) San Diego Comic-Con. Like a completely insane person, I'm going all four days. I have to admit, Comic-Con is mostly about the TV and books for me, but who knows. I'm beside myself with anticipation for the final LOST panel (sob!!!!!) And hope to get a good glimpse of upcoming shows. Any of you planning to be there? I'd love to try to meet up. If the blogging is sparse next week this is the reason why. I'll see how much I can do.

So...what's on your agenda for this week? What are you reading? Have you seen Harry Potter? If you were going to Comic-Con what would you most want to do? Pick one and answer! ;)

Read the first chapter of Morningsong by Shelly Beach

Got another first chapter to share with you today. Morningsongby Shelly Beach is the follow up to the Christy Award winning Hallie's Heart.

Chapter One

Halfway through her morning walk on the streets of Stewartville, Mona VanderMolen made her final decision to kill Miss Emily.

She pondered her decision as she stood at the edge of the lawn facing Glenda Simpson’s two-story, turn-of-the-century clapboard farmhouse.

What surprised her most was her numbness to the evil of it, even as her vision grew for how she’d carry out her plan. Sure, she’d done things she was ashamed of, things she and her girlfriends had laughed over at college reunions—things that kept her humble with memories of youth and stupidity. And then there were the years Ellen had blackmailed or manipulated her into being a silent accomplice to her rebellion—the times Mona had evaded her mother’s questions or pulled her drunk sister through a basement window in the dead of night.

But something intentionally evil, premeditated, and cold? Never in Mona’s forty-five years. Nothing like this. Since she’d moved to Stewartville, her public sins had been limited to an embarrassing unwillingness to observe the town’s forty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit and running up the highest tab in town for overdue library fines.

Killing Miss Emily would change everything. But then, that was the point of it, wasn’t it—to draw a line in the sand, to finally shut her up? Something in Miss Emily’s skittery eyes told Mona she knew she’d changed and could hear the voices that rang in her head.

Doubt. Fear. Indecision. Guilt.

Killing Miss Emily was the only way out of it, even if meant that everyone in Stewartville would know.

Mona VanderMolen was a good woman who had gone mad. Three months after she’d come out of her coma, she’d finally cracked.

The town would be stunned with the horror of it, and the sickening shame would separate her from the people she loved most: Elsie, Adam, Harold, Hallie, even Ellen. Mona pushed the thought from her mind.

The fact remained: it had to be done. She stared through the front window of Glenda’s house as the chill November wind bit through her black, French terry sweat suit and the lime green parka she’d layered over the top for extra warmth. Her thoughts rolled back to her first glimmering thoughts of murder. They’d drifted into her mind easily, like the russet oak leaves that had wafted downward to Stewartville’s lawns and sidewalks in gentle gasps and sputters of breeze as she’d headed west on Maple on her first lap that morning. By the time she’d turned north on Second, then east on Elm and south on Mercantile, the thought had grown to an idea, then to a resolve that hardened with the pain of each laborious step, until on her eighth lap, she found herself poised in front of Glenda Simpson’s bay window, holding a driveway paver brick in her right hand.

With one small twinge of pain, Mona’s vision had met flesh. The brick’s rough edges bit into the hammock of flesh between her thumb and index finger as she shifted its weight to get a better grip. She paused, then hefted it toward her shoulder, her arm trembling slightly as she drew it toward her chest. The weight was heavier than she’d expected, and she shifted her feet, then planted them wide apart for balance until the urge to lean to the right subsided.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and envisioned the throw. An overhand bullet that arched from her hand in a graceful swoop. The brick hurtling through the air and shooting through the pane of glass with perfect precision, raining glass shards into the juniper bushes below as the brick found its mark, leaving a starburst hole.

Then the sound of the thud, of stone meeting skull, and the sight of the body slumping to the living-room floor.

Mona opened her eyes and focused on the ripple of breeze through the juniper bush. If she thought about it another minute, she’d never follow through. It was pure evil, there was no getting around it, but some things in life weren’t to be tolerated. Tyranny came with a price, as Miss Emily was about to find out. And insurance would kick in and help with expenses, she was sure.

She raised her eyes and looked through the window at the face that had tormented her day after day.

You’re despicable, and I’ve taken all I’m going to take.

The face stared back silently. Mona could feel a trickle of blood running down the palm of her hand and the grit of the dirt on the tips of her fingers.

“I hate you.” She spoke the words out loud.

The face in the window continued to stare. Not even a blink broke the gaze. It was the staring Mona hated most, the fact that, to Miss Emily, the hard, violating gaze meant nothing, just like it meant nothing to the other faces who took in her stubble of auburn hair and the scarred scalp that still showed through. A few months ago her hair had fallen thick to well-muscled shoulders on a tall, athletic frame that could heft hay bales with the best of Stewartville’s men. But what did that matter now? Anger rose red-hot inside her like spewing lava, and she lifted the brick higher, staggering to regain her balance. But with the motion, her fingers lost their bite against the dirty chunk of concrete. She struggled to recover her grip, and the brick clattered to the sidewalk at her feet with a sonorous thud, landing inches from the raggedy hole where it had originally nested.

She blinked as she stood motionless and surveyed the streaks of blood on the palm of her right hand. Then she sighed, bent slowly to one knee, and nestled the brick back into place in the pattern of Glenda’s walkway where she’d found it kicked loose, like a half-dozen others.

So here I am, Lord, a pathetic crazy woman wasting your time, making you knock rocks out of my hand to save me from acts of insanity.

She eased the brick back and forth, working to make the edges lie even with the surrounding walkway.

This sure isn’t where I thought I’d be standing three months ago, after Elsie brought me home from the hospital. Of course, you know that. I was supposed to be finished with rehab by now, but your timetable and mine seem to be a little out of sync. And for some reason, praying and plowing through my agenda don’t seem to be working this time, even though they’ve worked pretty well in the past. I’m tired of all this, okay? I just want to lie down and sleep for a few weeks and wake up again when I’ll be able to walk again without staggering or read faster than a third grader or push three-syllable words through my brain.

She gave the brick a final smack, then lowered her head to her hands and rested on one knee before she slowly stood and blinked against the spinning. She fought against the swells that rose in her stomach and the flash of frustration that coursed through her veins.

Dr. Bailey’s warnings about post-craniotomy strokes and transient ischemic attacks, or TIAs, had simply been a doctor spouting medical protocol when he’d released her from the hospital. The headaches, fatigue, dizziness, and flashes these past few weeks were nothing, and she’d prove it to him if she had to. She’d fought every other hard thing in her life—her father, Stacy’s drowning, Hallie’s rebellion, her own near death—and she could fight this. She only had to get past her three-month MRI and hope that Dr. Bailey didn’t notice she’d already rescheduled it twice.

In the distance, the shriek of an ambulance approached as it headed in the direction of Stewartville Community Hospital’s emergency room.

With each bad day, I’m more exhausted and one step closer to losing it, Lord. Part of me wants to give up and crawl off into the dark with the doubt and fear that keep shouting that this is as good as it will ever get. The other part of me is outraged that I can’t control even the simplest things about my own body anymore. In five minutes, I swing from faith to depression to anger and then top it all off with a few ladles of guilt because I’m so weak.

And it’s no secret to you that I can’t walk by this house without fixating on killing Miss Emily because she’s the living, breathing embodiment of all the things I hate about myself. She’s as broken down and worthless as I’m becoming. Since we both know I’m losing it, what other excuse do I need to want her dead?

The calico with the flickering, crooked tail stared at her through the bay window that separated her from the outside world by a thin pane of glass. Mona had been told the story of Miss Emily soon after she’d moved to town. She was somewhat of a Stewartville celebrity, with her lightning-shaped tail, flinching fur, and skittery eyes that never rested anywhere for long unless she was shielded from the world in the protective recess of the bay window. Then, and only then, she would stare. She was one of Glenda Simpson’s six well-fed and pampered cats.

Rumor had it that one Saturday Miss Emily had ambled into Glenda’s dryer for an afternoon siesta, and Glenda had unknowingly tumbled both the cat and her husband’s Carhartts on permanent press for a good fifteen minutes before she’d figured out that the high-pitched shrieking she was hearing wasn’t coming from reruns of Cops in the next room. Miss Emily had emerged from the Kenmore with a walk that listed permanently to the left, a reengineered tail, and an aversion to anything remotely resembling the fragrance of Downy.

For the first time, Mona traced the lines of the lopsided tail and noticed the angles of the two breaks. Miss Emily’s eyes glared back, and Mona felt a surge of remorse.

“I’m sorry I’m staring, and I understand why you must have a deep-seated mistrust of humans. And I’m sorry I was planning your demise in kind of an . . . imaginative way. I was letting my mind play with how good it would feel to just hurl something . . . you know, let it all fly, inflict some pain because I’m hurting. We people commit murder like this dozens of times a day. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying we’re more messed up than we like to admit. But I think I at least owe you a peace offering of canned albacore.”

Mona tamped the brick with the toe of her tennis shoe as she glanced over her shoulder. The last thing she needed was for someone to have seen her apologizing to a cat. But no harm done. To the casual passerby, it would have appeared she’d taken a neighborly interest in replacing one of Glenda’s loose bricks. Not for one moment would anyone ever guess that Mona VanderMolen had contemplated an actual act of violence like pitching a brick through Glenda Simpson’s bay window in a random act of feline homicide.

She pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket, dabbed it on her tongue, and wiped the blood from her palm.

And what would Adam think if he realized he was dating a middle-aged wack job whose mind and body were disintegrating like cotton candy in a rainstorm? He was a good man who deserved a healthy, sane woman, not one who believed a cat could read minds and understand apologies.

Mona felt suddenly exhausted. After two months of laps around the same three blocks, she’d finally figured out why she hated Miss Emily so much. After all, she was just a beat-up calico with a busted tail and eyes that looked east and west at the same time. A cat with a mortal fear of household appliances. A cat that through a freak accident had been left to navigate the sea of life without a centerboard that went fully down, steering a little off-center and listing a bit to port.

Miss Emily was a reminder of who she’d become—one of the broken and dazed who listed a bit to port with a body that longed to be what it once had been. She wore her imperfections where everyone could see them, and people pitied her for it.

Mona shoved the blood-stained tissue back into her pocket. It was time to move on.

Faith 'n' Fiction Saturday: Christy Award Winners Announced!

I"m sorry to have Faith'n'Fiction up so late....I'm having a garage sale and it's currently going miserably...could use some prayer support. :)


Anyway, The Christy Award Winners were announced last week. Let's keep it simple again and tell me comments (or on your blog if you like) which Christy winner you're most excited about!

CFBA: Pirate Hunter by Tom Morrissey and Through the Fire by Shawn Grady

These two blog tour books showed up last Saturday...much too late for me to have them read in time, however, I look forward to reading both of them and hope to have proper reviews for you in 2009!

About the Book: High Seas Adventure Meets a High-Tech Quest for Pirate Gold West Indies, 18th century Young Ted Bascombe is rescued by notorious pirate Captain Henry Thatch, finding himself caught up in a world of crime, adventure, and a daily fight for freedom.... Key West, 21st century Marine archaeologist Greg Rhode embarks on a treasure-hunting expedition in the turquoise waters of the Florida Keys, but he's as beguiled by a beautiful diver with different-colored eyes as by the lure of pirate gold...The Hunt Is On! Interweaving these two stories, pro deep-sea diver Tom Morrisey spins a multilayered tale of two young men's quests to escape their past by losing themselves to adventure on the high seas. Romantic and thrilling, this unique novel explores the timeless truth that "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Read the first chapter of Pirate Hunter.


About the Book:Firefighting burns in Aidan O'Neill's blood. The son of a fireman, O'Neill has a sixth sense about fire and often takes dangerous risks. When one act of disobedience nearly gets a rookie killed, O'Neill is suspended. His weeks off are supposed to be a time to reflect but instead he escapes to Mexico, where another rash act of bravery actually kills him. But only for a few minutes.

Called back to Reno, he's now haunted by visions of hell and paralyzed in the face of fire. And at the worst time, because an arsonist is targeting Reno. With a growing love interest with one of the investigators complicating everything, Aidan must discover where his trust rests as the fires creep ever closer.

Read the first chapter of Through the Fire

Read the first chapter of The Y Factor by Liam Roberts

A great way to sample books is by reading the first chapter...helps you decide if you like the writing style! Check out the first chapter of The Y Factor by Liam Roberts below!

ONE


Tuesday, June 14, 2005

7 Jumādā 'l-Ūlā, 1426 AH

Atlanta, Georgia

Eric Colburn stared at the subject line in disbelief:
“IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME . . . ” How did this e-mail from Hamdi get in the junk folder? As he double-clicked the entry, he noticed the date. He couldn't believe he'd overlooked it for a month, and he chided himself for not checking his junk folder more regularly.

From: Hamdi Tantawi

Sent: Tue 5/13/2005 1:02 PM

To: Eric Colburn

Cc:

Subject: IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME . . . 

Eric:

I mailed you a DVD yesterday. It is important that you watch it . . . 

Eric remembered receiving a DVD from Hamdi, but he had set it aside. Where did I put it? He rummaged through his desk drawers but came up empty. It wasn't in his CD rack or in his desktop in-basket. Then he remembered laying it on his entertainment center so he could watch it with Alana. He ran to the living room and rifled through the DVDs. No luck. Craning his head forward, he saw the edge of a DVD case in the dim shadows between the stereo equipment and the wall. He leaned forward, stretching his arm and probing with his fingertips until he pinched the case between two fingers. As he gently guided it upward, it caught in the wiring and dropped further into the recess.

Ignoring the precaution of unplugging something, he slid the stack of equipment forward, extracted the case, and held it up to the light. “Mapping Human Genetics.” No wonder he'd forgotten about it. He'd assumed Hamdi was still trying to convince him that macroevolution was a superior theory to intelligent design.

Eric slipped the DVD into the player. A lecturer began a presentation with a superimposed title bar, identifying the speaker as Steve Olson. “The DNA codebook for our species consists of literally billions of nucleotide bonds--these are the rungs on the ladder discussed in the last tutorial--and the whole thing is made up of only four different molecules. The elegance is in its simplicity! Here's an analogy that will put the design into perspective.”

Eric sighed. He wanted to understand all this, especially since Alana loved it so much, but it could be so boring.

The lecture continued. “Imagine that you place a one-inch black cube in an empty field. Suddenly the cube begins to make copies of itself. Two, four, eight, sixteen. The proliferating cubes begin to form structures--enclosures, arches, walls, tubes. Some of the tubes turn into wires, pipes, structural steel, wooden studs. Sheets of cubes become wallboard and wood paneling, carpet and plate-glass windows. The wires begin to differentiate, connecting themselves into parallel but independent networks of immense complexity. Cranes are erected that are not part of the structure but are necessary to deliver the flow of materials throughout the complex entity. These cranes are then disassembled when their task is completed. Eventually, a one-hundred-story skyscraper stands in the field. It is unique from all others that have ever been assembled.”

Why did Hamdi make a big deal out of this? And what did he mean by “If anything happens to me”?

“That's basically the process a fertilized cell undergoes, beginning with the moment of conception. How did that cube know how to make a skyscraper? How does a cell know how to make a human? Biologists used to think that the cellular proteins carried the instructions. But now proteins look more like pieces of brick and stone--useless without a building plan and mason. The instructions for how to build an organism must be written in a cell's DNA, but no one has figured out exactly how to read the complex message.”

What is the point of all this? Eric lifted the remote but restrained himself.

“Each one of you started as a single cell. Billions of nucleotides were stored in the DNA that identifies you as unique from all humans who have ever lived. In one nucleus. In one cell. At the moment of conception. I call it the bar code of life.”

Eric's patience finally wore thin. He pressed the fast-forward button, hoping something would look obvious. If not, he'd have to rewind and suffer through the lecture in order to figure out what Hamdi meant. Ten minutes into the lecture, the screen distorted into a series of horizontal bands, then rolled vertically. Eric hit the play button as the image slowly morphed into Hamdi sitting in front of a bare concrete wall in a dimly lit room.

Hamdi's appearance was alarming. He sat with slumped shoulders, his sunken cheeks lean and hungry. The poor lighting accentuated the haunted look of his eyes, clouding them in deep shadow, a stark contrast to the gleaming beads of sweat on his forehead.

Eric rewound the segment to be sure he didn't miss anything important.

Hamdi cleared his throat and reached forward, his hand disappearing at the edge of the screen. The image jerked, coming to rest at a slight angle with Hamdi's head and shoulders in the lower-right portion of the screen. Hamdi began whispering, his voice too low to be heard.

Eric adjusted the volume and leaned forward, huddling with the monitor as if it were a coconspirator.

“Sorry for the intrigue, Eric. I had to anticipate this might be intercepted. I inserted the lecture so it would be dismissed as merely an educational DVD. But I know you well enough that I'm sure you will find this.

“Things have not gone well here, Eric. Cairo is not the same as when I left twelve years ago. I do not hear laughter any longer. Children no longer play outdoors with the same abandon.” Hamdi shook his head slowly, and then his stare intensified. “At first, I enjoyed my work in the Genographic Project, but soon I began to feel out of place there too. My co-workers are very devout, but they express extreme views. Most of them despise America and have been suspicious of me because of the time I spent there. I now realize that I will never earn their trust.

“Eric, bizarre things are happening in the lab, and there is no one to confide in. I brought my concerns to the lab director, but he rebuked me for being an informer. Then my co-workers began to utter threats. I tried to ignore them, but they have recently become more strident. I believe I have been followed and am starting to fear for my safety.

“I do not want to be melodramatic, but I wanted you to know what is happening in case anything happens to me. I have recorded my observations in my lab book and will read them to you in another DVD, when I am able to be alone in the lab--hopefully tomorrow. Perhaps you can help me get the information to our headquarters in Atlanta.

“Please give my regards to Alana--” Hamdi paused as his voice betrayed him. Eric detected a glimmer in the shadows and looked closer. Hamdi was crying.

“I wish I had not graduated early. I would give anything to be there and graduating with the two of--” A loud noise startled Hamdi and drowned out his comment. A look of fear swept over his features as he once again reached for the camera. “I must go now! Watch for the next DVD, and promise me you will get it to my headquarters!” The image faded to black.

Eric sat in stunned silence. He pressed the stop button and dropped the remote. “I promise, Hamdi,” he whispered to the darkened screen. Eric returned to his computer, where a quick check confirmed there had been no further messages from Hamdi. He typed out a quick reply and apologized for not having written sooner. He ended the e-mail by assuring Hamdi he would personally intercede with Hamdi's employer but was concerned that he hadn't yet received the second DVD Hamdi had promised.

Before shutting down his laptop, Eric needed to find the employer's address. A Google search responded to his query before he could lift his finger from the enter key:

Your Genetic Journey - The Genographic Project - The

National Geographic Society

A 5-year study by the National Geographic Society, IBM, geneticist Dr. Miles Larson, and the Saud Family Foundation to compile a genetic atlas. Project . . . 

www.nationalgeographic.com/genographic - 34k -
Cached - Similar pages

Participate Globe of Human History
Your Genetic Journey Public Participation Kit
Atlas of Human Journey Genetics Overview



Eric had known the National Geographic Society was behind the project but was interested that IBM was also involved, since it was one of the firms he was pursuing. The Saud Foundation was meaningless, but Miles Larson was a name Eric recognized from somewhere. He sat back in his chair and clicked the various links below the introductory description. In a few minutes, he learned quite a bit about the firm Hamdi worked for. The headquarters of the Genographic Project were on the outskirts of Atlanta, not far from where he lived.

Another e-mail arrived. The subject noted “Delivery Failure.” With a sinking feeling, Eric opened the e-mail.

Your message has encountered delivery problems to the following recipient(s):

hamditantawi@gmail.com

Delivery failed

Error Code: 550; hamditantawi@gmail.com; User account is unknown

No recipients were successfully delivered to.



Eric stood in front of the massive Genographic Project headquarters, steeling himself for the expected confrontation. To bolster his courage, he flipped his cell open and called Alana at her summer job.

“This is Alana McKinsey.”

“We need to meet,” Eric blurted.

“Hi to you too!”

“I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind. Have you had lunch yet?” Eric asked.

“No. Being the new girl means I get the worst time slot for lunch. I can't go for another hour and a half.”

“That's perfect. I have something I need to talk to you about,” Eric said.

“Sounds ominous. How about the sub shop down the street?”

“I'll be there.”



Eric couldn't get Hamdi off his mind. There's no way Hamdi would cancel his e-mail account without sending out a new one to his friends. The ominous tone of the DVD had been alarming, and Eric had resolved what he needed to do. He had to tell Alana about this but wasn't sure how it would be received.

If only Hamdi had not rushed to graduate early. He'd doubled up for a couple of semesters and got his degree from Georgia Tech a semester ahead of Eric and Alana. Then the job with the Genographic Project gave him the chance to return to his home country. When Hamdi left during the Christmas break, Eric was still fumbling for direction. He hadn't had a clue what he would do after graduation, except he hoped it would involve Alana. As things stood right now, Alana was scheduled to begin the graduate program at Harvard in a couple of months. As unappealing as the idea of moving to Boston was, it seemed to be his only choice to be near her.

Suddenly, he'd decided to change direction and struggled with the best way to tell her.

He was certain she wouldn't alter her plans without the assurance provided by a ring, but he wasn't ready to produce such assurance. We're just starting our careers, he told himself. There's plenty of time to figure out our future.

Eric strode down the street to the sandwich shop and scanned the small seating area. Alana was in a booth by the window and glanced up as he approached. She beamed, her opaline green eyes flashing recognition. His breath caught, and he savored the moment. He was distracted by an alluring silhouette accentuated by the light that backlit her sheer blouse. His eyes dropped for the briefest flicker, and then he composed himself.

“Hi,” he said as he bent to kiss her. “You know, you take my breath away.” Alana blushed, her complexion infused in a warm roselike glow. Characteristically, she deftly turned the subject from herself.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” she asked. “I have to be back in forty-five minutes.”

“Sorry I'm late. Things took an unexpected turn.” Eric paused. “Alana, I have bad news.”

Alana looked at him warily. “OK . . . ”

“I think Hamdi's disappeared.” Eric quickly told Alana about Hamdi's cryptic message, the DVD he'd overlooked, and the rejected e-mail to Hamdi.

Tears filled Alana's eyes. “Oh, Eric! I can't believe this. What could have happened to him? Who can we report this to?”

“I don't know what could have happened, but I'm going to find out.”

“How?”

“I took a job with Hamdi's company.”

Alana stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. “You lost me. What do you mean you took a job?”

“My first impulse was to go to the police, but that wouldn't work. Hamdi's out of the country. The State Department can't help because he isn't a U.S. citizen. So I drove to the company headquarters, thinking I would barge in and raise the red flag. But then I realized--I don't have any evidence that anything has happened to Hamdi. And I started wondering how seriously they would take his unemployed former roommate.

“When I approached the guard desk at the headquarters, they asked me what I wanted. For a minute, I was speechless, trying to conjure up a believable story. I glanced down at the desk and noticed a brochure announcing job openings. The first one listed was in the IT department. Then the idea came to me. If I could get a job with the company, I might be able to get to the bottom of it.”

“Eric--that's pretty impulsive,” Alana said.

“I know it seems that way, but there were so many coincidences that it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“First, they were looking for someone with an IT degree, and my specialty fit their requirements exactly. Then, I just happened to have my résumé folder in my backpack with my transcript and letters of recommendation. It's like a path was laid out in front of me. The next thing I knew, I was sailing through the interview, and they offered me the job--pending a background check.”

“What do you hope to accomplish by that?”

“I don't know, but I figured they would blow me off if I rushed in there to tell them my friend is missing. Besides, something happened right before the interview that convinced me this is the right approach to take.”

“What?”

“A lady in the HR department was making sure I'd filled everything out correctly before my interview. She noticed that I'd made an entry in the spot where they ask if you know anyone currently employed by the NGS. She looked up and told me I should erase Hamdi's name. I asked her why, and she said that he'd been a big disappointment--that he'd abandoned his job a month ago.”

“So, how did that convince you to go to work for them?”

“Don't you see? If they thought Hamdi quit his job, they couldn't care less whether something happened to him. And I'd sound like a conspiracy nut if I pressed the issue. This way, I might have a chance to figure out what happened and maybe even clear his name.”

“Well, that's all well and good, but what about Boston? I thought you wanted to be near me.”

“I do!” he said. “I can't tell you how much I want that. But I had another idea.” Eric passed a brochure to her. “Here's the job listing sheet I picked up. The job right below the IT listing is for a research assistant to the director of the whole project--a job that's a perfect fit for you.”

“I don't think so, Eric,” Alana said, shaking her head for emphasis.

“Alana, don't dismiss the idea until you hear me out.” He reached out and clasped her hands in his. “Alana, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I want the chance to take us to the next level, and working together will let us see what that means.”

“You don't know what you're asking of me, Eric.”

“You're right; I don't know. But what I do know is that you are the most intelligent and talented woman I've ever known.” He squeezed her hands tighter. “And you are the loveliest woman I've ever known.” He held up a finger to silence the anticipated protest. “It's no secret that I've played the field, but I don't want that anymore, Alana. I want you.”

They sat holding hands for quite a few minutes. He couldn't tear himself away from her penetrating stare, nor did he want to.

“Are you really willing to do that for me, Eric?”

“Yes.” He desperately hoped his sincerity was convincing. He couldn't bear the thought of being separated from her.

“You don't know how much I've wanted to hear that. It changes so much.”

His hopes buoyed. “Alana, all I'm asking is that you at least interview for the job. I recommended you to the HR department, and they were impressed with your credentials. I remember how excited you were for Hamdi when he got his job, and I think you were just a little envious of his chance to pursue genetic research, weren't you?”

Alana shrugged her shoulders. “Just a little.”

“Well, this is a chance to get in on the ground floor of an exciting research project. And they don't come any more prestigious than the National Geographic Society. Besides, with that caliber of real-world training, you could always go to Harvard later. They'd still jump at the chance to have you.”

Alana hung her head, and her long golden hair swept forward, partially obscuring her face. She gently pulled her hand from his grasp and with a graceful motion tucked her hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture but one of his favorites. He loved the tilt of her wrist, the long slender fingers.



Eric sat in the car and eyed the front door of the Genographic Project headquarters nervously. He glanced at his watch. The music on the radio began to grate on his nerves, so he reached out and stabbed the power button. What's taking her so long?

This had been the most incredible day in his life. He woke up unemployed, received a devastating e-mail from his best friend, landed an awesome job, and had just about convinced his girlfriend to abandon her academic dream in favor of a relationship with him. A day for the record books.

Alana had agreed to the employment interview, and now she'd been inside for over two hours. He didn't know if it was a good sign or not.

The front door opened, and Eric sat up in anticipation. False alarm. A couple of young women exited and walked toward the parking lot, deep in conversation.

He reclined his seat and thought again about Hamdi. If only he could find his friend. Hamdi had left some of his things at the apartment, but there was no clue that would help Eric find Hamdi's family. How difficult would it be to locate the right Tantawi family? How would he get past the language barrier? He had no idea where to start, but somehow he knew this job with the Genographic Project was key.

The passenger door opened abruptly, startling him. Alana dropped into the passenger seat. “Sorry to scare you, big guy.”

“I wasn't scared, just startled to see such a beautiful woman trying to pick me up.” He leaned over and kissed her. “So, how did it go?”

“You didn't tell me that Dr. Larson would be my boss.”

“I confess I couldn't quite remember where I'd heard the name,” he said.

“Are you kidding me? Hamdi used to talk about him. He's one of the chief scientists in the Human Genome Project.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“Impressive? They completely mapped the human DNA in ten years and finished years before they were expected to!”

“What d'ya know about that?” Eric tried to conjure up enthusiasm, but he wasn't sure what she was talking about. “So did they offer you the job?”

“Of course they did,” she said with mock arrogance.

He searched her face anxiously but could not read her expression. “And what did you say?”

Alana shook her head slowly. “I told him I need a few days to think about it.”